


Five Stars

by I_Dream_In_Electric_Blue



Series: B I N G O [7]
Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alpha Brendon, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Barista Patrick, Chef Brendon, Cooking, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mysteryish, Smut, Tiny bit of jealous Dallon, critics, hints of frerard, kinda rough sex, not really - Freeform, omega patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-15 06:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19607398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Dream_In_Electric_Blue/pseuds/I_Dream_In_Electric_Blue
Summary: Patrick's a shop owner who forms an unlikely bond with a mysterious stranger when he makes a habit of coming in for his morning coffee.





	Five Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This one's gonna be a lil short story. It says rated Mature but I keep feeling like it should be Explicit so I'm on the fence about it. Just know they're gonna fuck at the end.

Patrick looks at the computer, reading the reviews of different restaurants and eateries in town all written by the harshest critic in the state. There were a few places in town that hadn't been touched by the critic yet, and that included Patrick's bakery. The blond was worried and everyone working in other restaurants could tell. All the other owners had been devastated when they read the reviews and upset when they lost customers. The critic was notorious for ruining careers and destroying every restaurant they stepped foot into and Patrick's nervousness was obvious.

He looks out the window, biting his lip before going over and turning the sign on and unlocking the door. Patrick took everything out of the oven, putting the fresh muffins on display and decorating the pastries. The first customer of the day comes in with the ding of the little bell and Patrick turns, smiling, "good morning, what can I get you today?"

"How's the coffee," the tired man asks.

"Not as good as everything else but I-"

"The biggest cup of coffee you're allowed to give me."

He nods and turns making the coffee, "cream and sugar?"

"Shitload of cream and a shitload of sugar."

Patrick holds back a laugh and turns, "rough night?"

"You sound like my bartender, but yeah," he says, "I'm, uh, not feeling too great. Extremely tired and my head feels like it was hit by a truck."

"Sorry to hear it," he says, stirring the coffee and putting a lid on it. He turns, seeing the man with his eyes closed and forehead pressed against the glass of the display, groaning. Patrick smiles and takes a few of the cookies he'd made yesterday and slips them into a small bag, setting it on top of the coffee.

"Three fifty-seven."

He slaps a five on the counter and Patrick opens the register and hands him his change. The man opens his eyes and stands up straighter to take it, when he notices the cookies on top, "I didn't order cookies."

"I know, I just figured you could use them. They're not fresh, I made them yesterday, but they're still good. And if you don't take them I just end up taking them home anyway."

"You sure your boss wont get mad at you?"

Patrick laughs, "I'm sure."

"Alright," he says, finally meeting his eyes, "thanks."

Patrick smiles and looks into the burnt sienna eyes. They were tired but pretty and soon the man smiled at him.

"Have a nice day," he says.

"You too," he nods before leaving.

The stranger left, sipping his coffee and Patrick soon went back to his computer to read more about the critic. He looks at the name they go by, thinking the same thought he always thinks when he reads _Rider B. Noune._ Patrick raised his brows and sighs, _still sounds fancy. I wonder what they look like._

\---

Patrick wonders if the critic showed up at his bakery and grabs his laptop to check. The review was posted, but it wasn't for his bakery. He smiles. _Safe again._

"Are you seriously checking that," Dallon asks.

He turns to man, "yes! I want to know when to expect him."

"Why don't you just see what he looks like off his Wikipedia page or something," Frank asks.

"You don't get it," Patrick tells them, "that's the reason he's so famous. He's completely anonymous. No picture, no number or email. This Rider's like a ghost, I bet Rider isn't even his real name."

"The guy sounds like an asshole," Gerard says, "you shouldn't be worried about some dickhead talking bad about restaurants online."

"He doesn't just give bad reviews, he gives good ones too. They're really rare though and he's only ever given one restaurant five stars. But even the ones he gives four stars are hard to get into. I mean the guy is a legend! I would kill to get into these restaurants, especially-"

"The Golden Rose," they say in unison, "we know, you bring it up like every week."

"I know, but the place is just so elegant. I've never even been inside, that's how insane the place is. I bet their food is fit for gods!"

They roll their eyes and Patrick looks at his computer reading over the new review, "they reviewed Ryan's restaurant."

"Ryan Ross? The asshole who wouldn't let me park my motorcycle in front of the place because it was _'Bad for business'?_ That Ryan Ross?"

Gerard smiles, "did the guy mention he's got no fashion sense at all? He wore this gross lipstick one day. I mean it made his skin look godawful. I mean, just terrible."

"It was not his color," Tyler agrees.

Patrick clears his throat and reads, " _I found the Silver Spoon to be uninspiring and undeserving of it's three star reviews it gets everywhere else. I feel that's too many for this restaurant. The order took too long, the waiters and waitresses were inattentive, and they managed to get my order wrong twice. When I finally did get my order I had to send it back because the chicken wasn't cooked all the way through. Seems as though the only thing the restaurant had going for it was the cleanliness and the aesthetics. Don't worry though, I've personally sent Mr. Ross a few books on how to run a restaurant. Perhaps my next visit wont be as dreadful as this one was. Normally I'd give it one and a half stars, but I'm feeling generous today so I'll say two stars. Let's hope Ross figures out a way to change everything about his restaurant before he loses all customers completely._ "

"Holy shit," Gerard smiles, "he destroyed him oh my god. I feel like I should send him a get well soon card."

"He didn't even rank Damo's pizza place down the street as harsh," Patrick says, "now I'm even more nervous."

"Hey, don't be nervous, you actually cook your food. Besides, you're better than Damo's," Pete says.

He gives a half smile, "thanks."

"Man, I hope this guy doesn't review my food truck. I have no clue what I'd do if I lost business."

His watch beeps and Patrick sighs, "I have to go open the bakery."

"I thought you didn't open today."

"I open weekdays but close early on weekends," he says, closing his computer and rushing downstairs. He gets down to the shop as soon as the timers on the ovens go off. He smiles and flicks the sign on, unlocks the door, and takes the fresh muffins and cookies out of the oven. He displays them and lets the cookies cool next to the cupcakes. He quickly drizzles icing over a few pastries as the bell on the door goes off. It was the stranger from before in a dark jacket, running his hand through his hair as he made his way over to the counter.

"Good morning."

"Good morning. Big cup of coffee," he says.

"Shitload of cream and shitload of sugar," he asks.

The man laughs an rests his elbows on the counter, nodding as he rubs his eyes, "please?"

Patrick pours the coffee in and adds the cream and sugar before stirring. He places a lid on it and grabs a pack of cookies, setting them on top, "three fifty-seven."

He hands him the money and as Patrick gets his change he lets out a breath of laughter, "more cookies?"

"If you didn't like them I could always trade them for a fresh muffin."

"I like them," he nods, "practically the only good thing about my day yesterday."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he says.

"It's fine," he sighs, "today will be better I hope."

He unwraps a cookie when he gets his change back, "seems like it's already started out great."

Patrick blushes and the man heads out with his coffee. When he leaves Patrick stares after him, watching him smile at him through the glass. Patrick waves to him and watches him wave back before biting into the chocolate chip cookie.

\---

"So," Dallon says, "have you actually been sleeping or have you been refreshing the page over and over to see when _Rider_ posts a new review?"

"Shut up," he says, to the phone on the bed beside him.

"Why are you so obsessed with this guy?"

"I just think he's mysterious and he writes really good reviews and there are a lot of things he points out that are true."

"I think you like that he tears down others. Like a dick."

"No," he says, "I read his books before I read his reviews. He talks about food in a way that just speaks to me. I'd kill to have him sign my copy of his first book."

"He talks about food in a way that _speaks_ to you? What are you, in love with him?"

"That's stupid," he says, "I've never met the guy, I'm not in love with him."

"You shouldn't be. One, he's terrible. And two? You've never met him. What if he's some gross old man?"

"I don't think it would matter to me if he was older. The way he talks about food and the recipes he's written. Did I ever tell you about the first time I made the chicken from his book?"

"Yes, seven times! You wept when you tried the first bite because it was the _'best chicken you'd ever eaten.'_ "

He sighs, "I wish I could meet him face to face. He's incredible, I'd love the honor of-"

"Blowing him," Frank chimes in on the other line.

"Did you put me on speaker again," he asks, going wide eyed.

"Yes," Frank smiles, "hi, Patrick!"

"We're all here," Gerard tells him, "we're having dinner together, it's not chicken."

"Haha, very funny," Patrick says, "you know when I call you I'd like our talks to be private."

"Private? With us? Never," Gerard explains.

There are a few laughs and Patrick refreshes the page again, no new reviews. He sighs and listens to the sound of his friends eating loudly through the phone. He keeps refreshing and reading over pages in the critic's book. He smiles and looks at the recipes for desserts and bakery treats. He wished he knew what day the critic would come into his establishment so he could make him something special, he'd love to see what he looked like. He's studied every recipe in his book front to back. He practically has all of them memorized, including all the measurements of everything he needs to make them. He decides he'll make something with cinnamon in it tomorrow so the bakery smells even better than it usually does. Maybe Rider would come in that day. He refreshes the page once more seeing a new review. He clicks it immediately and begins reading. _'Frank's Fast Food Truck.'_

"Frank," Patrick says calmly.

"What's up?"

"He reviewed your food truck," he says.

"What," he asks, and Patrick can practically hear his heart drop into his stomach.

"Your food, he reviewed it."

"Holy shit, what does it say," he asks, "hold on. Shut up, shut the fuck up Pete! Turn the fucking TV down. Read it, Trick, read it!"

" _I wasn't expecting much from a food truck but when the smell hit me from a few blocks away I couldn't stop myself from walking up to the insanely colorful truck. I can only describe the smell as what good food smells like when you're truly starving for it. My mouth was watering before I even stepped up to the window. I didn't think it would be amazing, but it truly blew my mind. The chicken tacos were perfect and, unlike the Silver Spoon, the chicken was cooked to perfection. The cooks were sweet, the service was fast, and in my honest opinion they should charge more for what they make. I've never had amazing food this cheap before. This is one of the only restaurants that when I say I'll be returning I truly mean it. Four stars._ "

"Four," Frank asks, voice smiling from ear to ear.

"Four," Patrick says.

"I know I make fun of you for even reading shit like that but I see why you do it, that was great to hear."

"Oh my god, you're going to be so busy for a few weeks until the whole thing dies down a little," Gerard says, "I know when Damos got that three and a half star review he got so much business he had to close for a whole day because he didn't have anything stocked because he ran out after a few _hours._ "

"Should I call in for more ingredients," Frank asks.

"Yes," Dallon says, "one hundred percent do that. I actually think a few people might call out so you should probably call people who really need the money to come in tomorrow."

"Yeah, I'm gonna do that."

"Wait," Patrick says, "you worked all day yesterday?"

"Yeah," he says.

"How many people ordered chicken tacos?"

"A lot of people. It's our most popular dish, why?"

"Because if you were there and you made him chicken tacos it means you've seen what he looks like."

"Pretty much everyone ordered it," Frank tells him, "I should probably call and see if I can get more chicken for tomorrow. That might get ordered a lot more now."

Frank's truck was about a minute down the road from his bakery, Rider was a minute away from him today. He felt his stomach get a little fuzzy and a certain giddiness return to his chest. Maybe Patrick would get to finally meet him.

\---

He wasn't open today, due to the weather being terrible. He never got business when it stormed like this. He hit the button on the coffee maker and whenever it went off he poured himself a cup and sat by himself near the window to watch the droplets chase each other all the way down the window. He refreshes the page over and over to see the new review but it hadn't come out yet. He opens the recipes in another tab reading about baked macaroni and trying not to let his mouth water. It isn't until there's a knock on the window that he stops looking. The tired stranger he'd grown accustom to seeing every morning standing in front of him, pointing to the door. He was soaked, nearly from head to toe. Patrick gets up and unlocks the door, letting him inside.

The stranger catches his breath and takes his bag out from under his coat, setting it on the table with a sigh.

"You're drenched," Patrick says.

"I was a few buildings over when I noticed it was raining. They were closing and there were no cabs. I'd walked there," he pants, "left my umbrella at home."

"Why'd you run here?"

"I wanted a cup of coffee," he says.

"You ran here because you wanted coffee? There's a Starbucks a few doors down."

He shakes his head, "Starbucks wont give me free cookies when I've had a bad morning."

He bites his lip for a moment before shrugging, "um, if you want I can get you some clothes and throw the ones you have in the dryer. I live upstairs."

"Uh," he starts, "I don't think your boyfriend would like another alpha wearing your clothes."

"No," Patrick says, "he wouldn't."

The alpha nods and taps his laptop bag. Patrick smiles, "good thing I don't have one."

The alpha turns and Patrick locks the door and leads him upstairs into his house. When they get into the living room Patrick takes him into the laundry room and hands him a fresh towel and gets some old sweats from the shelf above him, "these are my friend's, he's extremely tall so I think his pants will fit you. Also this sweater is from high school so it's kind of got-"

"A giant embroidered picture of Garfield on it that says 'I hate Mondays?'"

"Yeah," he says, a little embarrassed.

The man strips and Patrick turns, letting him dry off and throw his wet clothes into the dryer before putting on the sweats. When the dryer closes he turns and the man is holding the bottom of the shirt out, "wow."

"I can get another shirt," he says.

"No, no," he laughs, "I love it. It's, uh, it's very me."

Patrick smiles turning on the dryer. They leave the room and before they can get to the door the man stops and looks at the books on his shelf, "you have every single book Rider B. Noune's ever written."

Patrick lights up, "you've heard of him?"

"Yeah," he says, "you actually read all these?"

"Yeah," he smiles, "he's my favorite. I've read all his books. I'm kind of obsessed with him if I'm honest. My friends think it's stupid."

"You like him? Most people hate him," he says.

He shakes his head, "he can be a tad bit harsh but it always brings more people to those restaurants. Even the one star ones. He's just got this way with words, you know? I remember picking up his first book and being upset that he could say all those things, but I found myself going to those places and tasting the food and for some reason it's like I'm eating with him. I don't know, I'm terrible at describing things. It's why I make food and not critique it."

"How do you feel about him reviewing the restaurants around yours?"

"I know I should be scared," he tells him, "but there's something exciting about it. Especially the mystery behind him. I like that he could be anyone, but I also don't like it because I may meet him and never know it's him."

"I've never met a single person who actually wants to meet him. Most just want to meet him to deck him on sight."

He runs his fingers over the spine of the book along the name, "I want to meet him and have dinner with him. Not in the date kind of way though. More of the tasting food together way."

The man smiles, "I know what you mean."

"Um, you wanted coffee," he nods, "why don't we go get that for you."

They go downstairs and Patrick pours him a cup of coffee, fixing it before handing it to him along with a bag of cookies. Patrick takes his coffee and computer and they head back upstairs. Once they're on the couch they sit a few feet apart, Patrick setting his computer on the table, "do you want to watch something?"

"Do you have the cooking channel?"

"I have every cooking channel," he smiles, "do you want to watch Cut Throat Kitchen? Or are you more into Cupcake Wars? Maybe Chopped?"

"Chopped," he nods.

Patrick turns it on and puts the bag of cookies between them. They make it to the final two and they're intensely looking at the screen. Patrick smiles, "it's gonna be John. I hope it's John."

Before they can see who the winner is the side door is opened and Pete and Dallon walk in, food in their hands. They make it to the TV before looking to Patrick, they both turn at the same time to the alpha and notice what he's wearing before turning back to Patrick.

"Trick," Pete says, "this--that, uh, who is that?"

"Oh," Patrick smiles, "this is my..."

He trails off until he realizes he'd never even asked the man his name in the time he's known him. The man was a stranger. He'd let a complete stranger into his home.

"Brendon," he says, smiling and standing to shake their hands.

They don't shake his hand. Dallon took note of what the alpha was wearing and Patrick laughs awkwardly, "um, Brendon's one of my customers who comes in every morning. It was raining so I invited him upstairs to let his clothes dry."

"Right," Pete says.

"I think my clothes are probably dry by now," Brendon says.

Patrick nods, "yes, yeah of course."

They walk to the laundry room and the alpha takes his clothes out and quickly changes when Patrick's turned around. When he leaves the room Patrick grabs his bag for him and holds it out for him. The man smiles and takes it, the strap going over his shoulder. Before he can leave out the side door Patrick's quick to stop him, "wait."

He turns, smiling, "yeah?"

He grabs an umbrella and holds it out to him, "try to stay dry this time."

He nods and opens it outside, "I'll see you tomorrow?"

He nods, "bright and early."

When he leaves and Patrick closes the door the omega lets out a breath and leans against the wood. He heads back into the living room seeing the two alphas standing with their arms crossed at him.

"Who was that," Pete asks.

"A friend."

"Your boyfriend," Dallon asks raising a brow.

He laughs, "no. No, he just--I know him from work."

"Why was he wearing your sweatshirt," Pete asks.

"Well, it was the first one I could find. And he was wearing Dallon's pants because he was taller than me, my pants would have looked weird on him."

"Yeah," he says a little annoyed, "wash them before you return them to me."

"I will."

"Why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone," Pete asks.

"I'm not! He's just someone I met through work."

"He seemed comfortable enough coming here even though you were closed," Dallon says.

"He just wanted coffee!"

"Seems like he got a little more than that," Dallon says.

"We didn't do anything! We just talked about Rider and watched Chopped together while his clothes dried."

"Sure," he says.

"Are we going to eat or not," Patrick asks, crossing his arms, seeming a little exhausted.

They sit down on the couch and they don't talk about it anymore.

\---

Patrick unlocks the door and starts the coffee before taking things out of the oven. He looks to the window, watching for the stranger as he decorates and packs a few cookies from the day before into a bag. When the coffee is done he goes ahead and makes it, finishing it just before the bell on the door jingles. He turns and the man walks over to him, looking exhausted. He sets the cup an cookies on the counter and the man smiles, "what if I wanted something else?"

"You don't seem like the type to break out of a routine so easily."

He puts a ten on the counter, "you didn't charge me for the coffee last time."

"It was on the house."

"Keep the rest, consider it me paying for dry cleaning," he smiles.

"You know, when I invited you upstairs it never occurred to me that I didn't even know your name until they asked what it was. You and I have been seeing each other every morning for weeks now and I didn't even know your first name."

"You never asked," he says.

"And you never asked mine either."

"You're not _the_ Happy Muffin?"

"I'm Patrick," he says, holding out his hand, "Patrick Stump."

He takes his hand, holding onto it, "Brendon Urie."

When they let go Brendon pulls something from his deep pocket and sets it on the counter, "your umbrella."

"Thank you."

He goes over to the corner with his laptop, sitting down and scrolling.

"What are you reading," Patrick asks.

"How do you know I'm reading?"

"You're either reading or writing. Writers usually go to Starbucks to write though, not come here."

He lets out a breath of laughter, "I'm just checking my emails."

Patrick glances at the screen and smiles, "do you read Rider B. Noune too?"

" _Too_ ," Brendon asks, raising a brow, "you read his online reviews as well?"

He nods and walks around the counter to sit in front of him, "I can't stop myself from reading them. Between his reviews and his books? You know, I've memorized all his recipes."

"Wow," he says, "really?"

"I know," he sighs, "that's kind of weird, isn't it?"

"Not at all."

He bites his lip, "can I tell you something?"

"Sure," he says, taking a bite of his cookie.

"Okay, so, I have this really dumb fantasy where I meet him and he reviews my bakery. And he gives me this rare five star review that brings in so many people into my shop that I get popular enough to be able to make a real reservation at the Golden Rose."

"Wow," he says.

"He says it's the best restaurant he's ever been to and I'm dying to try the roasted duck he talks about. He described it at eating from the same plate as the gods."

" _That's_ your fantasy," he asks, amused.

It's at this point that Patrick's face begins to burn red with embarrassment. He lets out an awkward laugh and Brendon's grinning from ear to ear.

"I know, it's pretty stupid, right?"

"No," he says, "it's, um, it's cute. You're pretty cute."

Patrick's mouth opens and he stares at the alpha before clearing his throat, "um, the cupcakes should be cool enough now. I should go decorate them."

Brendon begins typing something and when he felt Patrick staring he smiled, not taking his eyes off the screen, "what is it?"

"Nothing," he says, "just that I've talked a lot about what I like. What do _you_ like?"

He pauses for a moment and turns to him, "food."

"Food?"

"I love food."

"Are you working on a paper about food?"

"A project," he says.

"A project about food?"

"Yep," he says.

"Oh, you must be in the culinary school nearby. I went for a while, couldn't afford the other classes to become an actual chef, but I managed to get my business degree and that helped me get here. Besides, I've always liked baking a little more than cooking."

"I've always preferred cooking," he tells him, "wasn't very good at baking in the beginning. But cooking? Cooking came naturally."

"What do you like to cook the most?"

"Honestly?"

He nods, "honestly."

"Probably side dishes more than meals. Cooking meals is great but have you ever cooked onions and garlic when you're hungry? The smell is incredible."

"I know what you mean. My friend owns a food truck, the one that Rider reviewed last, and it always smell amazing. It's called Frank's Fast Food. It's super bright and colorful because a friend of mine designed it for him, you _can't_ miss it."

"Really?"

He nods, "yeah, it's great. You should definitely have it for lunch today."

"Alright, we will. Whenever it's your lunch break you and I will go get some."

"We," he asks.

"Or I could get it and bring it back, though I'm not sure what your favorites there are."

"No, I-I'll go with you," he nods.

"Good, it's a date," he smiles.

He turns back to his computer and Patrick smiles, _a date with Brendon._

\---

They had had a few unofficial 'dates' over the past few months but none of them ever ended with a kiss or even them establishing that they were in fact dating. It was confusing for Patrick, not knowing what they were. But this time they'd decided to cook together, and he was going to make sure he asked him what they were. Patrick was stuck with being nervous and excited to make food with Brendon, especially since dinner food wasn't something he was particularly good at, but this time? He was going to make sure he followed the recipe down to the smallest detail. He was going to make sure everything tasted perfect.

Patrick holds out a spoon to him, hand underneath to catch any sauce if it fell, "try this."

Brendon tastes it and Patrick looks up at him eagerly waiting. He takes his time, "hmm."

"Hmm," Patrick asks, looking disappointed, "good hmm or bad hmm?"

"It's perfect," he says.

"Really," he asks, "you think so?"

"I think Rider would be begging you for the recipe."

"Well, if I ever meet him I'll make sure to write it down for him."

"I think the noodles are finished," he says, "ready to make our lasagna?"

He nods and they make it together, pouring the layers in and sprinkling the top with cheese. When they're finished they pop it in the oven and wash their hands before sitting down on the couch. They were closer than they'd normally sat, maybe a foot and a half apart. Patrick wondered if Brendon noticed. He holds onto a pillow and after a minute of silence he turns to Brendon, "I'm a little cold, are you cold?"

"Freezing," he says grabbing the blanket off the recliner and moving to sit right beside him.

He puts the blanket over both of them and an arm around Patrick. The omega leans back and slowly but surely rests his head on Brendon's shoulder. His heart fluttered when Brendon's head leaned against his and he couldn't help but smile and relax a little more. When a commercial comes on he turns to Patrick, "okay, so, I've got this hobby where I like to take recipe books, look at the pictures, cover up all the ingredients on the page so I can only see the picture, and then I try to make it."

"I do something similar, but I usually add to recipes, not just make them up as I go."

"We should try sometime, maybe one of these days we can go to my place and we can make a cake or something. Or we can do it here this is a bakery after all."

"I'm curious about where you live," he says, "something tells me two bedrooms, one bathroom apartment."

"Two bedrooms? Are you sure?"

"Yes. Two bedrooms and one bathroom. And you use one bedroom as an office space and I bet it's filled with books."

"Have you broke into my apartment before," he asks, "that's exactly what it looks like."

"I'm betting your room is white or tan with a brown bed spread."

He shakes his head, "nope. White room and dark red bed spread. Like a red velvet cake. Let me guess what yours looks like. Blue with white walls? Maybe a secret pet you've never mentioned."

"Final answer," he asks.

"Yes."

"Wrong," he tells him, "it's white with a white bed spread and a bunch of little plants by the window."

"Plants," he nods, "should have guessed plants. Wait."

"What?"

"Five bucks says you've got another bookshelf in there."

Patrick stands and walks to his room, backwards. Brendon stands and walks down the hall. When Patrick's pressed up against the door he looks down at him, "open the door. Let's see if you truly are a cooking nerd with more cookbooks in here."

Brendon reaches behind him and tries to open the door while Patrick holds onto the handle. He reaches for Patrick's waist, tickling him before opening the door when he lets go. He heads over to the bookshelf and uses his hands to gesture to it like he was on the price is right, "one bookshelf."

"Fine, you caught me, I love cookbooks so much that I keep the ones I like the best in my room with me."

Patrick sits on the bed and Brendon takes one out, "you have this one?"

He smiles realizing it's Rider's first recipe book.

"But this was his _worst_ book. I mean, no editing skills, no spellcheck, the recipes are all mediocre too."

He shrugs, "I love it. Shows that he's human. As for the recipes they're not the best, but it was his first book, at least he learned from his mistakes. I like to think that's why he reviews restaurants so harshly like that. Because he's hope they learn from their mistakes too. He does go back to the restaurants after a year and usually they always improve whatever he picked up on."

"Out of all the terrible ones in here which one was your favorite?"

He smiles and flips through the pages finding the chocolate fudge brownies, "definitely these. They got me through some tough times if I'm honest. These were the best brownies I'd ever eaten until I improved the recipe."

"Do you sell them at the bakery?"

"No, I've never made them for anyone but myself."

"Could you make them for me," he asks, sitting on the bed with him.

"Well, you did help with the lasagna. So I guess I can make them for you."

"I bet they'll be the best ones I've ever tasted."

"You have that much confidence in me?"

"Of course I do. You're the best baker I've met."

He slits his eyes, half in amusement and have looking skeptical, "is that because I'm the only baker you know?"

"No," he says, "I actually know a lot of other bakers. At least twenty-five"

"Wow," he says, "so all this time I thought I was your one and only baker but you've been eating someone else's cookies this whole time?"

He laughs.

"How many, Brendon? How many chocolate chip? How many peanut butter? How many snickerdoodles," he asks, pretending to be hurt.

"Baby, it was before I met you. If anything, I ate your cookies when I should have been eating theirs."

He gasps, "so _I'm_ the homewrecker, huh?"

"I'm sorry."

"You've wounded me, Brendon, you really cut me deep."

"You're probably the most dramatic baker I know actually," he says, "and probably the nicest."

"Really," he asks.

"Yeah," he nods, "you're the nicest."

"Thanks."

"And probably the most attractive," he adds.

"Out of all the bakers you know?"

"Actually out of all the people I know."

His face heats up and Brendon chews his lip as the omega speaks, "oh."

"Yeah."

They look at each other for a long time and soon Patrick's finding himself leaning in closer to him. When Brendon doesn't stop him he tilts his head and closes his eyes. But before their lips can meet the timer on the oven goes off and Patrick's eyes open. Brendon looks awkward and rubs the back of his neck before speaking, "uh the lasagna."

"Yeah," Patrick nods, "I guess it's finished."

They head into the kitchen and when the lasagna's out they let it cool for a few minutes while they get a drink. Patrick sips his water as they stand on opposite sides in the kitchen. It's weird and the air feels different after the leaning in thing happened. Brendon isn't looking at him and Patrick starts to feel like maybe he shouldn't have tried that.

"What are we," he asks, so soft Brendon turned and cocks his head in confusion.

"What?"

He clears his throat, "uh, so, what are we eating? With it? Should we, make some garlic bread or something to go with the lasagna?"

He cursed himself for being a chicken when it came to things like this.

"Uh, yeah," the man nods, "I think garlic bread would be great. That sounds great."

\---

Patrick looked over the fresh pan of brownies and puts the pieces out in the display except for one. He instead places it on a piece of wax paper and gently wrapped it before tying some string around it and making a bow. Once it was perfect he made the coffee and fixed it with cream and sugar before putting a lid on it and drawing a heart on the side of the cup. He chewed his lip nervously waiting for the man. Once he sees the dark outfit he's perking up. Brendon opens the door and heads straight to the register with his money out. He places a five on the counter and picks up his food and drink, "I can't talk this morning. I've got a meeting I absolutely cannot be late for and I have a deadline that ends in about fifteen hours and I have no idea what to write about."

He nods, "we can just talk later!"

He nods and heads towards the door, "thanks for the coffee and cookies, Trick! You're the best!"

He gives a small wave before pulling his hand down and looking after him. He chews his lip the whole day, watching people come and go. But Brendon doesn't. He doesn't come in, he doesn't call, he doesn't text him.

 _Maybe he hated the brownies,_ he thinks, _oh no, what if he was just being nice when he said he wanted to try them?_

He looks to his phone, but doesn't see any messages.

"You look worried," he hears Dallon say from the nearest table.

He turns and raises his brows before shaking his head, "no, I was just thinking about Brendon. I was wondering if his meeting was going okay."

"Meeting?"

"He's got a meeting and a paper to write in fifteen hours. So I'm just hoping he's doing alright."

"Maybe a meeting with his omega or something."

"Brendon doesn't have an omega," he says.

"It's a Saturday. Papers and meetings don't happen on Saturdays for students. They happen on weekdays. He's meeting with his omega."

"Brendon would tell me if he had an omega," he nods.

"Maybe he doesn't want to jinx it by telling you. "

He frowns and places more food into the baskets, "you really think he has an omega?"

Dallon doesn't say anything after that and Pete comes in with Gerard and Frank behind him, "I just don't see why you wont let me make the new uniforms."

"Baby, you keep trying to make them sexier but they just need to be able to cover everything while cooking. Why don't you just make plain red ones?"

"Plain," he asks, offended, "do I look like I make _plain_ clothes to you?"

Patrick tried to block them out and look past them at the windows and doors, hoping he might see the alpha heading his way. Pete taps his shoulder and points to the brownies and Patrick nods and motions his hand to shoo him away after he grabs one. He goes to sit with Dallon who's still watching Patrick.

"Okay why don't you just make black aprons with cherries on it like that dress you wore on my birthday last year," Frank asks.

"You liked that one," Gerard smiles.

"Loved it, and you can even put your initial on the apron at the bottom like you normally do," he says.

"Really?"

"Really," he says, "I'll even have my truck repainted in a few months and you can design the whole thing again for me and give it your Gerard touch."

He smiles and kisses him, "aww, Frank."

He kisses the tip of his nose, "I only let my employees wear the best."

Patrick envied their relationship, he'd been wanting to have something like that with Brendon. Something where he'd kiss his cheek or lips or initiate something that let him know he wanted to be more than friends. But so far Brendon hadn't done much of anything and neither had Patrick. He looks to the napkin dispenser seeing his reflection on the back, _what if he's only interested in a friendship?_

He chews his lip in thought, "maybe you're right. Maybe he started a new relationship with someone and he just hasn't told me because he wants to be sure it's something real."

"Why don't you ask him on a double date," Dallon suggests, "if he brings someone along he's dating and if he says he isn't dating anyone then you know he's single."

"What if he does have someone? I'm not seeing anyone."

Dallon gets up from the table, coffee cup in hand as he walks over to the counter. He sets the cup down and looks in his eyes, "I'll take you."

"But then Brendon will think you and I are dating," he says.

"What's so wrong with that," he asks, hand sliding on top of Patrick's, "am I not attractive?"

"No! I-I mean yes. You're good looking, anyone would be lucky to have you."

"So, you wanna go out with me?"

He's silent for too long, and the pregnant pause finally ends when Dallon pulls his hand from his, "you don't."

"It's just--you and I are friends! We've known each other so long it would just be a little weird."

"How? We _know_ each other. We're friends, we have history, I think you're attractive, you think I'm attractive-"

"I don't think of you like that," he says, "you're like a brother to me."

"You didn't think of me like a brother when we shared our first kiss together."

"That was a long time ago, and I just wanted to see what it was like," he says.

"How about this," he says, "if he isn't seeing anyone I wont get in your way with him. But if he isn't, you let me take you on a date."

"A date?"

"A romantic one. Candles, music, all the works. What do you say?"

He looks up at him, the blue eyes waiting for an answer. Before he can say anything Pete's throwing his arms around his brother and squeezing him tight, "have I ever told you how much I love you?"

"You can have one last brownie," Patrick sighs.

"You're the best," he smiles, taking a brownie and putting it on a piece of parchment paper. He looks up and sees Dallon leaning against the counter, looking at Patrick who tried to make himself look busy, "what were you two just talking about?"

"Nothing," Patrick says quickly.

"I was asking Patrick if he'd let me take him on a date," Dallon boldly says.

Pete goes wide eyed and smiles, "oh, of course you can!"

Patrick turns to look at Pete who's beaming at him, "Trick, I'm happy you're finally dating!"

"I'll take really good care of him, Pete. You've got nothing to worry about."

"I know," he nods, turning to Patrick, "Dallon's a really good guy. You know, for a second I was worried you might end up with that weird guy who comes in all the time."

Before he can say anything Pete's walking off and Dallon's smiling, "I guess you and I have a date."

"I guess so," he says, "but just one. Just one date."

"Of course, whatever you say," he smiles, "I'll make a reservation before this weekend? Give you time to talk to your friend."

He nods and Dallon walks off. Patrick looks out the window, looks like it would rain again. The brownies sell fast and he decides tomorrow he'd wake up and make more early the next day, though he wasn't sure many people would come in because of the weather. He guesses he'll just have to wait and see.

\---

When he brings out the fresh brownies he looks to the door seeing people already lined up at the door before it opened. Different shades covered the umbrellas and he looked at the rainbow of rain boots on the people waiting outside. He cocked his head to the side curiously until he heard someone come down the stairs of his home, "Trick! Trick!"

Frank and Mikey rush downstairs towards him as Gerard held a few aprons in his arms.

"What," Patrick asks, looking at Frank, "what is it? Did you lock the door upstairs when you rushed in here. You know it blows open with the wind if you don't-"

"Rider B. Noune reviewed your bakery!"

And Patrick's heart stops as he turns towards the door, "what? What does it say?"

"Read it," Frank says handing him his phone, "Gerard, Mikey, and I will handle the customers."

They open the door and rush over towards the counter as Patrick sits on the steps leading up to his home, phone in hand. His heart is loud in his ears along with the customers and their desire to get their hands on one of the brownies. His fingers are shaking when he reads to himself, " _I've been going to the Happy Muffin for a while now and I've been hesitating to review it for a long time. I always told myself I'd review it when the time is right. In fact, most of this review has been sitting in my drafts for a couple weeks now. It was just a quick run inside for a cup of coffee the first day but soon it turned into me coming in every day. What started as me going in for my free cookies wrapped neatly beside my cup of hot coffee soon turned into me staying longer, bringing my laptop so I could work. At first I assumed it was just to be closer to good coffee and cookies that made my day a little better, but I soon realized what the cause of my happiness was. It was the soft blond hair, the pretty blue eyes with yellow in the middle, it was a smile so bright it could put the sun to shame. I'd been feeling down for a few months the whole town feeling a bit dull after a while and I realized the one thing I looked forward to was The Happy Muffin, the place where he and I spent nights arguing over who was going to win the cooking competitions on TV, where we made food together, where we spent nights laughing on his couch and falling asleep together under the softest cotton candy pink throw, where we almost kissed. I had a deadline one morning to meet and instead of my normal day old cookies he'd given me a brownie. One that was made with an old recipe of mine that had been changed up into something even more incredible. It brought me back to those nights in college where I spent days, hours,_ nights _trying so hard to perfect my recipes. It made me feel like I was brand new, back to the first day of cooking school, it made me feel like I was back at the Happy Muffin on his couch again, curled up with him under my arm. It was soft but with a hint of a crunch around the edge. It tasted like Christmas morning as a kid, like kissing the right person for the first time, like leaving for a much needed vacation, like climbing up the tallest tree and looking out at everything, it tastes like coming home._ "

Patrick swallows hard, eyes tearing up as he keeps reading, " _This will be my last review for this town for now, but before I go I'm going to get a cup of coffee and a brownie. And though it's clear I have feelings for the omega behind The Happy Muffin I hope you all still believe in my ability to review a place without letting my personal feelings cloud my judgement. If you don't believe I'm telling the truth with this review feel free to come down to The Happy Muffin and try everything yourself. But for now I'm giving this place five stars._ "

He puts the phone down looking at everyone carrying coffee cups with brownies and cookies in hand. He wipes his eyes and hands the phone back to Frank. He smiles and is quick to make more food for everyone so he wouldn't run out. More people showed up, the bakery getting a little crowded. People were seating themselves and happily chatting away while they occasionally looked to the door. He wondered if Brendon would make a grand entrance. When all the heads turn to look at him he doesn't like it and heads upstairs, locking the door behind him. The second he's in his house he hears a knock at the door. He sighs, _Pete must've seen it and now they're here to lecture me._

He opens the door seeing the tall alpha standing there, the dark jacket, warm brown eyes, and the wet hair are enough to make his heart nearly stop. They make eye contact and the alpha pushes his wet hair from his face as the rain comes down hard. The omega's shaking and he feels like he's about to fall over if he doesn't get something to hold onto. A big smile forms on Brendon's face, "guess I should have kept that umbrella, huh?"

"You're leaving," he says.

"Reviewed every place in this town, in the city really."

"You're really going then?"

"Does that upset you," he asks.

"You waltzed into my life and let me get to know you and shared my love of cooking. You watched my favorite shows with me and rooted for the same contestants I did. You made food with me. You fell asleep on my couch with me. You almost kissed me," he says softly, "of course it upsets me."

"So tell me to stay," he says, walking forward into the house.

Patrick backs up and Brendon closes the door, walking forward while the omega walks backwards, "tell me you want me to stay and I'll stay."

He presses Patrick against the wall, wet stomach against his shirt, soaking through, "tell me you want me to stay and I'll kiss you for real."

His forehead is pressed against his, cold nose touching Patrick's warm one. He looks down, whispering, "stay."

Brendon pulls off the jacket, the gray long-sleeved shirt underneath sticking to him. Patrick looks at him and reaches up to touch his face gently. His hips are grabbed and he gasps, heart beating loud and fast. And in seconds he's picked up and pushed against the wall, legs wrapping around Brendon's torso. They look at each other for a while, their breath on each other's lips. And Brendon leans forward closing the gap. Patrick's hands slide down his neck and let his arms go around him.

"You're kind of cold," Patrick says, "you should get out of these clothes and into something warm."

"I'll put on sweats and you and I can watched Chopped together under your blanket?"

"I was thinking we could warm up in my bed," Patrick says, legs squeezing him a little tighter around the waist, "unless that's too fast."

"No, no," he says, "that sounds good."

He nods and he's walking him back to his room, pulling at clothes until they go into his room. Their mouths only breaking to take their shirts off. Once Patrick's on the white bed spread Brendon locks the door and heads over, pulling the pants on him down and off his legs. He kicks at the dark jeans around his own ankles, getting them off before picking Patrick up and carrying him closer to the top of the bed. Once he's laid back Patrick kisses him and runs his fingers through the wet hair, "should we do this in the shower? You're getting me kind of wet."

He chuckles, moving his kisses down the pale stomach, "that's kind of the goal here."

"No, no," he smiles, "I mean your hair, the rain is getting on me."

"Right," he says, "uh, I'll get a towel, I'll towel off and then come back."

He nods and Patrick sits up watching him towel off and dry his hair. The omega looks at his skin, small droplets of water still visible on his chest. He'd seen Brendon before without his shirt on but he'd never taken a good look. But now? He saw the muscles stare back at him, his arms bigger than he remembers and his stomach toned. He looks down at the underwear seeing how hard the alpha was and Patrick feels that same warm sensation in his stomach when his hole begins to leak. He bites his lip and when Brendon's head is covered by the towel he pushes the underwear down his legs only stopping when Brendon saw him. His hands freeze and Brendon walks over, "I got you."

Patrick lets go and watches him pull them off and toss them aside. He leans in and takes Patrick's hand and kisses his wrist and palm before he nudges his legs open. He puts the omega's hand in his hair as he kisses his way up his thighs, Patrick's breathing hitching. His hands go under his knees and slide up his legs, holding onto his waist as he brings his hips closer to him. His teeth nip at the skin of his thighs before sucking marks into his pale flesh. Patrick moans, both hands in his hair, pushing through the wet locks. Brendon looks up at him and he lets out a breath as his tongue licks a slow stripe over his hole. His body trembles under him and Brendon's tongue cleans up the slick between his legs before pushing past the ring of muscle to drink him in. Brendon's eyes go back to focus on what he's doing.

"Ah!"

His cock leaks onto his stomach and Brendon stops to lick his hand and pump him slow while he goes back to licking him open.

"Brendon!"

The hand in his hair begins to tug at it while his gaze flicks up to him, Patrick's toes curling behind him.

"Please!"

He's not sure why he says it, but Brendon stops, "please what? What do you need, Trick?"

"You," he says.

He pushes the boxers down his thighs and got between his legs, cock springing up. Patrick looks down watching it leak, "this what you want?"

He nods, "please."

He takes his cock and strokes his slow, Patrick pulling his knees up and spreading his legs more for him. Brendon moves on top of him, rubbing the tip around his hole. Patrick whines and Brendon smiles, kissing him when he pushes inside. Patrick moans, feeling fireworks going off behind his eyes. The alpha starts slow, moving to his neck while he thrusts in and out at an easy pace. Patrick sighs and puts his hands in his hair before Brendon's wrapping his arms around his waist.

"Faster," he says.

"I wanna take it slow," Brendon says, "really take my time with you."

"Brendon," he whines.

"What, you really want it fast and hard?"

He nods.

"Please? I need it."

He smiles and nips at his neck, "well, since you said please."

He thrusts quicker, hands in his hair pulling as he moans. Brendon kisses him longer and slower and Patrick has to stop every few seconds to let out little noises he can't contain, "Bren-don!"

"You like it like that?"

"Yeah!"

Brendon reaches between them and takes hold of Patrick's cock making him moan, "I'll cum too fast."

Brendon uses the pad of his thumb to swipe over the head experimentally, expecting him to moan, but instead his whole body jerks and he lets out a whine, thighs squeezing him as the grip in his hair tightens. He pulls Brendon closer, eyes squeezing shut and reaching for Brendon's wrist, "please."

He gives another swipe and Patrick's mewling and biting his lip, grip on his wrist getting tighter. He lets go and takes both of Patrick's wrists and holding them beside his head. His mouth falls open and Brendon kisses the bottom of his chin, letting go of his hands and pulling him closer by his knees. He gasps and Brendon pushes them up and grabs his wrists again. He angles his hips and thrusts hard watching Patrick ball his fists.

"Again," he breathes, "do it again!"

Brendon does as he asks, the slick making it easier to give him what he wants. The alpha moans and kisses him, feeling Patrick hot and tight around him. He looks at the omega when he pulls back, watching him close his eyes arch his back up, taking everything he gives him.

"Good omega," he breathes.

And when Patrick hears it his eyes snap open, "what did you say?"

"You," he says moving to kiss his neck, "you're a good omega for me."

He sucks in a breath and his hole clenches around him, "I am?"

He nods and licks a line up his neck, "you're so good for me. Such a good omega."

And his hole began to leak more and his fists unclenched.

"Aren't you?"

"Yes," he says, but it comes out more like a question.

"Always so good for me," he says by his ear, "such a helpful little thing. Can't believe you haven't been claimed yet."

His breathing is faster and when Brendon's teeth scrape over his neck again he moans, "alpha!"

A wave of electricity made its way down his spine and went straight to his cock, making him throb. He bites gently and Patrick's hole just gets wetter, "I should claim you. Take you for myself. Would you like that?"

Brendon's thrusts get rougher and Patrick nods, "yes!"

"You'd belong only to me, only get naked like this for me, only get wet for me, only let me touch you. I'm a bit of a jealous alpha, Trick. I don't like when people touch what's mine."

"I wont let anyone touch me," he moans, "only you. Only your omega."

He smirks, "I like to be rough like this when I need an omega. You sure you can handle it?"

He nods, "yes!"

He stops and flips him over onto his stomach, shoving back inside him and pulling his arms behind his back with one hand, "I love doing it like this too."

Patrick moans and arches his back, putting his ass in the air, "however you want me."

He reaches under him stroking his cock, "and I love making my omega cum like this."

He whimpers and Brendon thrusts harder, "can you handle that?"

"Yes," he moans, pushing back against him.

"I'll be a good alpha for you," he says, kissing down his back, "give you whatever you need whenever you need it. Knot in you whenever you beg me to."

"Alpha."

"You want me to right now," he asks.

He nods, "please?"

"Say it," he tells him, "I want you to say it so loud everyone downstairs hears it."

"Alpha," he whispers, and Patrick's cock leaks more at that request as slick runs down his thighs.

"If you can't do that then just beg me."

He turns around to look at him, "please? Please can I have it? I'll be a good omega for you, I promise."

Brendon wants to tell him to beg more, but when Patrick says that all sweet and genuine he can't help himself and leans in to kiss him, "yeah, baby, I'll give it to you."

He thrusts harder and Patrick lays his head down, letting Brendon's hand stroke him faster. Patrick's soon thrusting into his fists, and backing into Brendon's cock. The alpha goes faster and Patrick's moans get higher as he buries his face deeper in the pillow. He's soon spilling over Brendon's knuckles while he's thrusting harder in him. Brendon lets go of his cock and licks the cum from his hand before holding onto Patrick's hip. The alpha whines and wiggles his hips under him, "alpha!"

He hits the same spot over and over and Patrick's clenching his fists again, "please, alpha, please!"

He thrusts in, cumming hard and filling him up before Patrick's relaxing. The knot swells in him and he gasps and shifts his hips. Brendon lets go of his hands and Patrick grabs onto one of the pillows, pulling it to his chest. The alpha moves them on their sides and Patrick's panting and tugging at the blanket underneath. Brendon gets it out from under them and pulls it over Patrick's shoulder. It's quiet and soon Brendon presses a kiss to the back of his neck, "I love you, Trick."

"I love you too," he says, turning to look at him.

"I'll stay," he says, pushing the blond hair from the omega's face, "for you I'll stay."

"Good," he smiles, kissing him, "I didn't want you to go."

"I suppose I've got more questions coming now that you know who I am."

"I can't believe you let me go on about how much I loved your books to your face," he says, a little embarrassed, "and my room is full of them and you just never said a word."

"I planned to tell you, I just didn't know how."

"Why Rider B. Noune?"

"Anagram," he says, "for Brendon Urie."

"Of course it is," he says, "I should have known. God and I talked to you about how I was obsessed with you and how I wanted to meet you."

Brendon laughs and Patrick hides his face in the pillow, "it was very cute. Everyone else either calls me an ass or criticizes me and my books. But you were so genuine and nice and it was a little refreshing to see someone talk about me so fondly."

"Yeah, well, from here on out that's done," he says.

Brendon smile and kisses the back of his neck, "that's fine with me."

"So," Patrick says, drawing it out, "how long do these knots normally last?"

"You don't know," he asks.

"I've never had an alpha do it to me."

"I've never done it," he admits, "maybe it goes down in like an hour or two."

"That gives me time to take a nap," he smiles, "and then when we wake up we can cook."

"Or," Brendon says, kissing his shoulder, "I could get us a table at the Golden Rose?"

"Really," he asks.

"Unless you don't want to go anymore."

"No, I do," he says.

"I'll get us a table," he nods, "properly wine and dine you. Take you on a real date this time."

"It's just that that place is expensive," he explains.

"Let me take care of it," he says, "it's my job as your alpha to take good care of you."

"My alpha," he asks, biting back a smile.

"Oh, yeah," he says sheepishly, "unless that was just a sex thing. Then I wont say-"

"No, no," he says, "I like it, I've just never had a real alpha before."

He smiles and kisses his neck, "I've never had a real omega before."

"I kind of like the idea of having a big strong alpha to take care of me," he says.

"I like the idea of having a cute omega to take care of."

"So you'll be mine," he asks turning to look at him.

"As long as you'll be mine," he says, lips ghosting over his. Patrick connects them for a moment and pulls back to look at him. Brown eyes looking at him fondly. He touches his face and Brendon's quick to take his hand and press a kiss to his wrist and palm gently, making eye contact the whole time. He places it on his cheek again and holds it there, raising his brows for an answer. Patrick chuckles and the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile.

"It's a deal."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! One more left for Bingo! :)


End file.
